


Share My Dreams

by scottmcniceass



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blowjobs, M/M, failed attempts at writing smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-20
Updated: 2012-11-20
Packaged: 2017-11-19 03:24:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/568546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scottmcniceass/pseuds/scottmcniceass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek accidentally claws the back of Stiles' neck while trying to keep him safe from a group of hunters. When Stiles starts having vivid dreams about the werewolf in question, he can't help but think that the two things are related.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Share My Dreams

Stiles’ fingers curled in the loops of the fence. He tried to pull himself up, sticking the toe of his shoe into one of the lower rings. His shoes were too wide, though, and he couldn’t find purchase. His fingers ached from the weight of his body resting on them, and his heart was still pounding in his chest.

He whirled, searching for Scott so he could ask for a hand up. Instead, it was Derek whose eyes he met, and then there was a strong hand on his ankle, pushing him up. Seconds later, Derek jumped, clearing the top of the fence easily while Stiles still struggled to swing his legs over the top and jump down.

Hitting the ground was jarring, and he bit the inside of his lip hard enough to draw blood. Derek was unfazed, of course. Show off.

“Left,” Derek urged, starting down another alley.

“Where’s Scott?” Stiles demanded, but he started following Derek anyways. He couldn’t hear the sound of footsteps behind them and figured that the hunters-- not the Argents this time-- must have taken a different route, or started following another pair of the pack. He hoped Scott was okay.

“He went right with Isaac.” Derek said, and Stiles could tell by the set of his shoulders, the tense way he walked, that he was annoyed at being stuck with Stiles because he couldn’t run. Stiles got winded quickly and no matter how hard he tried, he just wasn’t as fast as the rest of them. That’s why he usually stuck to being the getaway car. The jeep was his strongest asset.

The alley ended and they wound up on an industrial street, one that wasn’t too far from the warehouse that Derek and his group of misfit werewolves had once lived.

“We should turn back.” Stiles said, a weird, tingling feeling going through his whole body. “This doesn’t seem--,”

Derek whirled on him, eyes flashing, and any other protests died in his throat. He raised his hands in a defensive manner and shut his mouth quickly.

“We’re only three streets down from the main road.” Derek explained, his back once again turned to Stiles.

Stiles frowned. “And? It’ll be impossible to hide on that street. Everything’s lit up.”

“It’s also _busy_ ,” Derek said, and if stiles had to guess, he’d say that Derek was rolling his eyes. “They’re not going to open fire with pedestrians around.”

“That’s a little optimistic,” Stiles grumbled.

The only good thing about being paired with Derek when they were on the run was that Derek knew Beacon Hills better than anyone else. He knew every street, every alley. It was nearly impossible to get lost with him, and he knew the safest paths to take.

Okay, safe wasn’t the right word, considering Derek had him climbing through a broken window-- “It’s safer to go through the building.”--, which ended with Stiles getting a long, gaping gash in his forearm.

Derek was breaking the bolt-lock on the exit door when the sound of breaking glass reverberated through the echoing building. Stiles had only a second to react, and then Derek’s hand was on his neck. There was a moment of searing pain when his nails accidentally dug deep into Stiles’ flesh, and then the ache of his body crashing to the ground, Derek landing beside him.

An arrow buried itself in the all just where Stiles’ head had been. Derek jerked them up as soon as the arrow hit home. He wasn’t gentle on Stiles when he dragged him towards the opposite side of the building. There was another door here, a thicker one then the one Derek had tried to break, and it didn’t have the exit sign above it. Stiles had no idea where it led, and he figured Derek didn’t, either, but Derek just stood in front of it and kicked it with his right foot.

The door burst open and then Stiles as being dragged unceremoniously up a set of stairs. The sound of footsteps was now audible, at least three pairs. Derek kicked down another door on the second landing, and then without a second of warning he wrapped his arms around Stiles’ middle and, holding tightly on to him, he jumped through a window.

Derek landed on his back, Stiles cradled on top of him and, yeah, that had to hurt like _hell_. Derek didn’t even pause to deal with the pain, though, and then they were running again.

“Told you-- that this was-- a bad route-- to take!” Stiles gasped out as they ran.

Derek didn’t reply. He just continued running -- at a slower pace for Stiles’ benefit-- in the direction they had come from before they broke into the old building.

A pair of tires screeched and Stiles jerked his head up, eyes wide. Lights blinded everything out for a moment, but Derek wasn’t grabbing him and pulling him, so Stiles tried not to feel too panicked. The car skidded to a stop beside them, and Stiles had a moment to register the familiar car, and his best friend sitting in the driver seat, before Derek pulled open one of the doors and stuffed him inside.

“You guys okay?” Scott demanded, meeting Stiles’ eyes in the rear-view mirror.

Stiles’ hand instinctively went to the throbbing pain in his neck. When he pulled his fingers away, they were wet. He met Derek’s eyes then, and Derek was frowning at him, his lips pursed.

“I’m good,” Stiles answered. “I could probably make the Cross Country team this year if I wanted, with all the training I’ve been getting.”

“Derek?” Isaac asked.

“I’m fine.” He answered in a clipped tone.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “He almost got us killed.”

“I also _saved_ us, in case you forgot about that part.” Derek snapped, his head turned towards the window.

“Wouldn’t have needed saving if you didn’t lead us to that building.” Stiles pointed out.

“Next time I’ll remember to leave you behind.”

Scott made a low warning sound and Isaac was quiet. Stiles just snorted. “You’d never leave me, I’m too useful.”

 

\--

 

Scott dropped Stiles off at his house first. His dad’s cruiser wasn’t in the driveway, unsurprisingly. He worked late most nights now. It was one of the conditions of him getting back on the field.

For once, Stiles didn’t mind. It made it easier to clean up after a night out with the towns supernatural population. Being one of the only humans surrounded by a pack of werewolves had its perks, but mostly it just had downfalls, most of those being the shallow-- and occasionally deep-- cuts that currently covered his body.

He pulled the first-aid kit out from under his bed and brought it to the bathroom. He was careful to disinfect every one of his cuts, especially the claw wound on his neck. It burned, but it was necessary.

When he was done, the clock on his side-table read 2:53am. He sighed loudly. He was going to be exhausted tomorrow, but his father wasn’t likely to let him stay home from school because he was tired after a night of running around town from hunters.

He flicked off his bedroom light and tossed the first-aid kit back under his bed before climbing under the covers. It should have been hard to fall asleep, all that adrenaline coursing through him, but he crashed easily.

 

_Stiles woke to the feeling of someone’s hands trailing down his spine. He rolled over and blinked open his eyes. He wasn’t in his room. In fact, he didn’t know whose room he was in._

_The walls were painted a deep blue, almost black, and there were various posters on the wall, some belonging to bands, others were posters for old werewolf movies, the really bad ones with way too much hair and teeth. He should have been freaked out, but the bed he was laying in smelled familiar, and the hand on his skin was too nice._

_“You’re awake,” Derek commented, and Stiles grinned at him. “Finally.”_

_“You could have just woken me up.” Stiles pointed out, lifting his hand to rub it over Derek’s stubble._

_“Really?” Derek asked, and his eyes got a mischievous look in them before Derek pushed him down so he was no longer on his side, but on his back. “How would you like to be woken up?” He asked, climbing on top of Stiles’ body._

_Stiles was wearing only a pair of loose, worn boxers, and Derek was in nothing but a pair of tight black briefs. He groaned at the feeling of Derek on top of him before Derek’s lips lightly pressed to his neck, and then his collarbone, before going lower down his chest._

_“Like this?” Derek asked, sliding lower. “Should I start waking you up with my lips on you?”_

_Stiles groaned and fisted his hands in Derek’s hair, trying to urge him downwards. “Definitely,” he gasped out._

_Derek chuckled but complied, moving down until he was kneeling between Stiles’ spread legs. His fingers hooked easily under the waistband of Stiles’ boxers, tugging them down. There was a moment of awkwardness when Stiles had to lift his legs up to get them off, but then Derek’s hand was on him, and it was totally worth it._

_“Stop teasing,” Stiles breathed when Derek kissed the inside of his thigh, and then the dip of his hip bone._

_“You’re always so demanding in the morning.” Derek smirked. Stiles was about to retort something, or maybe beg for him to move this along, when Derek’s tongue slid over the tip of his cock, and Stiles’ legs jerked for a second, and his fingers, still tangled in Derek’s hair, tightened enough that it was probably a bit uncomfortable for Derek, but he didn’t comment or tell him to loosen up or let go._

_Stiles held his breath as Derek’s lips wrapped around him and then slid downwards, all slick and warm and perfect. When the tip hit the back of Derek’s throat, he let it out in a low, drawn out moan. Derek’s fingernails-- thankfully blunt and human-- dug into his thighs at the sound._

_Derek was way too talented with his mouth. He knew when to speed up, when to just use his tongue, when to hallow his cheeks at just the right time. Stiles might have been annoyed at how quickly Derek was getting him to the edge, but he was feeling way too good to give a shit._

_“Derek,” Stiles warned eventually, fingers tugging Derek’s head up. “I--,”_

_Derek’s hands pushed his hips down harder, like he was trying to press Stiles into the mattress. Stiles tried to protest, feebly, but then it was too late, and that tightening in his groin suddenly loosened. The last thing he seen as he came down Derek’s throat was those hazel eyes and the uplift of Derek’s lips, like he was smiling around Stiles’ cock._

 

  
Stiles bolted upright, ragged pants coming out of his mouth. His hands clutched his comforter and his forehead was slick with sweat. He didn’t need to lift the blanket to know that he had a raging boner, but that wasn’t really the issue right now.

No, the issue was the freaking pornographic dream he’d just had about _Derek_.

Why? Why did that have to happen? Okay, so he wasn’t really all that surprised. Derek was hot, alright, and Stiles wasn’t really gender objective when it came to stuff like that. But now he was going to have to look Derek in the eyes and pretend like he totally didn’t have a really good dream where Derek blew his freaking mind-- and his dick.

And he was going to have to pretend that he didn’t jerk off in the shower right afterwards, too. Great. Like things were difficult enough.

 

\--

 

“Dude, are you okay?” Scott asked after school.

Stiles stared at him, bug eyed. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?” He demanded, his voice a bit higher than normal. “I’m fine.” He repeated in a lower tone.

Scott shrugged and gave him a confused look. “You’ve just been, I don’t know, jumpy today.”

“I’m just tired.” Stiles lied easily. “Didn’t sleep much last night, thanks to you, mostly.”

“Sorry,” Scott said quickly, looking guilty.

Stiles rolled his eyes. He didn’t mean to make Scott feel bad, but he couldn’t exactly take his words back and tell Scott that the real reason why he’d been jumpy all day was because he couldn’t stop imagining a certain alpha werewolves eyes looking up at him as said werewolf had his lips wrapped around Stiles’ dick, now could he?

“Where’s Isaac?” he asked instead. It had become a normal thing, now, for Stiles to drive Isaac home, or to Scott’s, after school. At first, he was a bit jealous of his best friend’s blossoming bromance with Isaac. Until, at least, he realized that it wasn’t really a bromance, but in fact a romance. Or it would be, if they both weren’t so in denial.

“He’s, uh,” Scott frowned and then turned and pointed. “Right there.”

Stiles followed his direction and then swallowed thickly. He couldn’t make Derek’s face out due to the tinted windows of his car, but he still felt the heat rise to his cheeks as if Derek just knew what Stiles had dreamed about.

“Stiles?” Scott pulled his attention back.

“Hmm?”

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Totally fine.” Stiles lied again, giving Derek’s car one last look as Isaac climbed into it. “Totally.”

 

\--

 

_The hood of Derek’s car was warm under his naked back. The car was still running, lights shinning brightly. They were parked somewhere near the Hale house, thank god, so the chances of someone seeing the light and deciding to investigate were slim to none._

_Derek laid his palm on Stiles’ thigh, and Stiles took the opportunity to look at Derek, fully naked and bathed in the light of the car. It was a really distracting sight, to be quite honest. He looked almost pale in the white light, and his entire body was etched in hard, enticing muscles. His legs flexed when he stepped even closer to Stiles, and his erection pressed against Stiles’ leg when he leaned in for a kiss._

_Stiles moaned into Derek’s open mouth when Derek’s hand moved from his thigh, lower, towards that spot here Stiles desperately needed him right now. Derek seemed to get that, and his fingers were slick when they brushed over Stiles’ entrance. The sounds Stiles’ made were indecent and pathetic, but he really didn’t care, as long as Derek-,_

_“Oh god,” Stiles groaned when Derek slid his index finger in easily. He almost expected Derek to chuckle, or at least look smug, but when he looked into Derek’s face all he saw was concentration and lust as he moved with more purpose, fingers sliding all the way in before coming almost all the way back out._

_Stiles couldn’t do anything but let his head fall back against the hard surface of the camaro’s hood, his fingers trying to find something to hold on top, clawing at the paint. He might have chipped it, but Derek either didn’t notice or didn’t care._

_“More?” he ventured, and Stiles nodded quickly._

_“Definitely,” he voiced, and Derek, thankfully, complied._

_It was really a bit easy for Derek to get the second finger in, and Stiles found himself trying to push down on those fingers, wanting them to move faster, or wanting more. He wasn’t sure._

_And then Derek’s fingers brushed against that perfect spot, and Stiles surged up, hands reaching for Derek’s biceps, nails digging in hard enough to leave crescent shaped marks on his skin._

_Stiles had no idea where Derek was getting the lube from, because try as he might, he couldn’t spot a bottle or tube anywhere, and it wasn’t like Derek was hiding it in his pockets, because he was naked. He really didn’t care, though, because that wasn’t all that important, not when Derek’s fingers were moving inside him, perfect and fast._

_He didn’t ask this time before adding a third, and Stiles only let out a quiet hiss at the sudden stretching feeling._

_“Come on,” Stiles hissed after another minute or so. His legs lifted to wrap around Derek’s middle, pulling him closer. “Derek, come on.”_

_Now, Derek did chuckle, but he slid his fingers out of Stiles and then positioned himself at Stile’ entrance, replacing his fingers with his cock almost instantly, slowly moving himself inside. He let himself fall on top of Stiles’, blanketing him with his body, his head tucked against Stiles’ neck._

_“Fuck,” he grunted against Stiles’ neck. Stiles wound his arms over Derek’s back, clinging to him as Derek further stretched him as he moved all the way inside. “You--,”_

_“Yeah,” Stiles agreed, eyes fluttering closed. There was a moment of slight pain, but that would probably always be the case. It didn’t last for long, because then Derek was moving, slow, shallow thrust turning into faster, deeper ones, leaving Stiles breathless and incapable of coherent speech._

_Fucking on the hood of Derek’s car wasn’t the most comfortable thing ever, but Stiles definitely wasn’t complaining. Derek was perfect, and Stiles would take him in whatever way Derek offered. Especially when Derek would sit up, leaning on his palms, changing the angle to something perfect and blissful. Or when he’d lean back down, covering Stiles’ body with his own, movement slowing, becoming more intimate instead of primal._

_The best, though, had to be when Derek leaned down and wrapped his hand, fingers still a bit slick from lube, around Stiles’ dick, pumping him quickly in time with his thrusts._

_He wasn’t sure who finished first, but his entire body seemed to tense up right before he spilled over Derek’s fingers, and Derek’s thrusts stuttered and then stopped, cock pulsing inside Stiles._

When Stiles woke up it was just like the last time. He was hot, sweaty, and really, really turned on. The only difference was that this time, there was a burning, aching at the back of his neck. His fingers gingerly prodded at the scratch marks there.

He was going to have to do something about that, because he was going to go insane if he kept having dreams like that.

But even thinking that, he had to admit, at least to himself, that he didn’t really mind. And, he conceded, he might actually really want to have sex. With Derek Hale.

 

\--

 

After dropping Scott and Isaac off at Scott’s house when school was over, Stiles headed towards the familiar rode that led him to the Hale house. Derek actually had an apartment now-- one that Isaac stayed at with him-- in one of the more rundown areas in town. Not that Derek didn’t have money for something a lot nicer, apparently, given the car he drove -- Stiles tried not to shudder at the thought of that stupid car-- but he said that it was safer to stay where they were, because the man who owned the apartment building didn’t do credit checks, and Derek had applied for the place under a fake name so no hunters could track them.

But he still spent way more time at the burnt shell of a house that he used to live in. And, unsurprisingly, when Stiles pulled up to it, Derek’s car was out front, and so was Derek. He was wearing one of those ridiculous wife beaters that should probably be illegal, and he was bent over the open hood of the car, wrench in hand.

He didn’t turn until Stiles slammed his door a bit too hard, and when he did he shut the hood and then crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned on it. Stiles kind of wished he wouldn’t do that, because it was distracting, and it brought up too many fantasies to count.

“What did you do to me?” Stiles demanded, not getting too close.

Derek raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t do anything to you.”

Stiles snorted and put a hand on the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah, sure. You totally didn’t dig your creepy little werewolf claws into the back of my neck, which by the way, is not only unsanitary, but apparently it causes weird as hell hallucinations, or dreams, or whatever, because--,”

“You’ve been having dreams?” Derek asked, letting the wrench fall to the ground. He took a step towards Stiles and it was only his stubbornness that stopped him from taking a stepback, even though he probably should have. Derek moved to put his hand on Stile’s neck, but Stiles gave him a look that told him not to, and he let his hand fall. “What kind of dreams?” He asked, eyes wide.

“Uh,” Stiles shifted on his feet. “Does it really matter?” He asked. “I just want to know why they’re happening, and how the hell I’m supposed to stop them.”

Derek sighed deeply. “It was an accident,” he said, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Sometimes, werewolves can pass on memories, or thoughts, through scratches. It-- it happens, okay? But I’m not trying to send you anything, so I-- I must be unconsciously sending you my dreams.”

“So how do I get it to _stop_?” Stiles demanded. “Because I’m going freaking crazy here, Derek.”

Derek shrugged. “It’ll pass when they heal.”

Stiles groaned. “Lovely.” He said, and then he froze. “Wait, I’m picking up on your dreams?”

Derek looked uncomfortable. “I’m sorry--,”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Stiles’ mouth fell open.

“What?” Derek demanded, eyes narrowing. “Stiles, what have you been seeing?”

Stiles’ eyes slid from Derek’s face to the hood of his car and back again. Derek followed his faze and then his face turned red, horrified realization dawning on him.

“Get off my property.” Derek ordered, and Stiles couldn’t help but smirk because, wow, Derek wanted him.

“Wait,” he said, lifting a hand.

Derek didn’t wait. “Go!” he growled.

Stiles back peddled as Derek’s eyes turned red. He climbed into his truck. Derek’s eyes didn’t turn back to normal even when Stiles started the car and reversed.

When he flicked on his turn signal to pull back onto the road heading home, he pulled his phone out of his pocket first, bringing up Derek’s contact number. He quickly hit the keys before sending a text.

_If you ever want to do something about those dreams you’ve been having, you know where to find me_. He sent, and then grinned to himself. Maybe something good might come out of this whole thing after all.


End file.
